


Parts are Parts

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Fluff, Cuddles, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Teen John, Teen Sherlock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>The boys attempting to put together flat pack IKEA furniture. All 4 of them, maybe Sherlock's moving in with Mycroft when he's like 14 or something?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parts are Parts

“You could help, baby brother.” Mycroft was in the process of carrying what seemed like far too many boxes into the front room.

“Boring, Myc.”

“It's no more boring than that chemistry textbook.”

“I'm 15. You're the one that put in for me to start Oxford in September.”

“I'm well aware of that, baby brother, that's why you're moving in with me, but you wanted a second wardrobe for God knows what experiment equipment. You can help me get it up to your room.”

“It's not my fault it came in 4 boxes and that they're heavy, is it?”

“One day I am going to be in charge of so many people that they can do all this for us.”

Sherlock laughed at that, but closed his book. However, the younger boy's idea of helping was to rip open the box labelled '1' and try to dig out the instructions. There was an inordinate amount of packing material which he threw around haphazardly, sending it flying this way and that. Not finding what he was looking for, he moved to the second box and gave it the same treatment.

“'Lock,” Mycroft admonished, “You're going to get everything out of order and completely mixed up.”

“Pft. Parts are parts. How much can it matter anyway?” He chucked a flat panel to the side and kept digging.

Mycroft shrugged and joined him in his search for the instructions, having deduced that was what his little brother was after.

They had never put furniture up before. So this was a first. Father had always dealt with that stuff until he had passed. Mummy would just spit and huff at it.

They didn't find the instructions until they opened the box labelled '4'. Sherlock huffed - it was completely illogical for them to be in that box. He opened the directions and immediately deduced that they had been written by an individual with only a passing knowledge of English. “Oh, God. No one has a brain, Mycie.”

The elder Holmes snatched the paper from him and rolled his eyes.

“You know who we need don't you, little one?”

Sherlock frowned at the nickname, but didn't comment, having no idea who he meant. Mummy would be of no use.

“We need the boyfriends who can understand this bollocks.”

The younger boy looked across at his brother who was trying to hide his laugh, but wasn't managing it very successfully.

“Any excuse, Mycie,” Sherlock agreed. He hadn't seen John since the day before yesterday. That was far too long in his opinion.

Mycroft didn't bother to hide his mirth now, he laughed out loud. “Indeed.”

Both brothers searched for their phones and sent off the messages. John responded first, Greg was moments later.

Looking at the random mess on the floor around them, Mycroft sighed. “Gregory requested that we at least lay the parts out in order.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“His message said there would be stickers on them with letters on. We're to put them in alphabetical order.”

Sherlock picked up the nearest panel, looking it over front and back. He held it up to show his brother. Nothing. “Well, John suggested locking me in the cupboard and attempting it on your own.”

Mycroft laughed. “He knows you too well.”

“But he's on his way over anyway.”

By the time the knock came at the door, they had managed to halfway organise the mess, though there was a small pile of unlabelled parts laying against one wall.

“That's John!” Sherlock declared, having deduced it from the knock. He bounded over and opened the door. “It wasn't locked.”

“It's a new house Sherlock. I can't just walk in.”

“Why not? I do.”

John just rolled his eyes and then jumped, grabbing the younger boy round the neck in a hug.

“Is this a prepaid hug or can anyone join?” Greg asked from behind them.

Sherlock sniffed and tightened his grip on John. “He's mine. Go find your own boyfriend if you want one.”

Greg slipped around them and into Mycroft's waiting arms. “I'd rather hug you anyway,” he told his boyfriend just before pressing their lips together.

Over Mycroft's shoulder, Greg spotted the containers of what looked to be about 15 wardrobes rather than just the one. “I'm assuming it was your brother that ripped through that.”

Sherlock objected to that rather loudly, “Myc helped!”

The elder brother winced. “We were endeavouring to locate the instructions.”

Greg laughed. “Of course you were. Did you find them?” In answer, his boyfriend deposited them into his hand. He glanced over them briefly. “So, tools then. We'll need a hammer, screwdriver and... wait, a small wrench is included.” He looked up to see a blank look on both the Holmes brothers' faces. “What?”

“We need tools?” Sherlock asked.

“D'uh,” John commented kneeling down beside Greg.

Sherlock glanced at his brother. “Shall we leave them to it?”

John launched himself over and latched onto his leg. “This is your wardrobe. Why did you decide to destroy the boxes in the front room?”

“For a pair of geniuses, the two of you are complete idiots,” Greg said as he started picking up parts to relocate them. He gave Sherlock a look. “Don't just stand there, get to work.”

“Make me,” he said with a sly grin.

“Easy.” John stepped forward so he was blocking the two men from sight and reached down to grab Sherlock's balls through his trousers.

“John,” he hissed.

“What?”

“We haven't even done that yet.”

The older boy shrugged even though he wasn't oblivious to the elder Holmes' gaze locked on them.

“Greg and I are not doing all the work while you look on like a pampered princess.”

“Hear, hear!” Greg called as he and Mycroft carried parts to Sherlock's bedroom.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Mycroft's a moron.”

“What was that, baby brother?”

“Wait there and I'll prove it.”

He walked to the cupboard under the stairs and opened the small door. From inside, he pulled the wheel barrow out that they had used to transport heavy things through the house a few days before.

“Filling this and carrying it up the stairs will need two trips, all of us carrying an item at a time will need hundreds. Seeing as the bedrooms aren't on the first floor, but the second, wouldn't it be wise to use it?”

Both Greg and John snickered at the look on Mycroft's face. It wasn't often anyone got one up on him, after all, and it was only ever his little brother.

The elder Holmes rolled his eyes. “You'll be completely insufferable now, won't you, 'Lock?”

Puffing up even more, Sherlock proudly declared, “Obviously.” Then he actually began loading the wheelbarrow.

John quickly moved to help him, as did Greg. Mycroft however, began carrying the panels he already had up the stairs.

It took some time, but they managed to get everything up the stairs and into Sherlock's bedroom.

Somehow the instructions had made it into John's hands and he was turning them in every direction, trying to figure them out. “Right. We need parts M and S.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Sherlock complained. “Why wouldn't you start with A?”

“Because some idiot wants us to start with M and A,” John replied.

“I'm glad we agree on one thing.”

John looked up from the paper.

“The author is an idiot.”

John chuckled. He had to agree with his boyfriend's assessment. “Right. Would you fetch the screwdriver for me, ‘Lock?”

“No need,” Greg called. “I've got it.” He handed it off to the blond.

Mycroft stood off in one corner, arms folded and looked the image of a sulking teenager, despite being 22.

Greg sat on the floor, his legs folded up beneath him. He glanced up at his boyfriend. “You're not getting out of this either, Myc. Get down here and hold this steady for me. He was trying to separate some parts by using the screwdriver as a lever.

Mycroft joined his boyfriend on the floor and did as instructed.

When Greg's grip on the screwdriver slipped, he shook his hand and swore, “Bloody hell!”

Taking his boyfriend's injured hand in his own, Mycroft kissed Greg's bloody knuckles. “Better?”

“No.” He grabbed Mycroft by the hair with his free hand and pushed him onto his back.

Sherlock and John started to make gagging noises as the two men began kissing.

Greg grinned at Mycroft, winked and then started moaning theatrically. “Jesus, Myc. You're absolutely gorgeous.”

Grabbing a pillow from his nearby bed, Sherlock threw it at the couple. It hit Greg on the back of the head. He absently reached back and launched it, but the two teenagers as taken cover under a random piece of wood.

“This isn't accomplishing anything,” Mycroft admonished. He was smiling, his upper body supported by his elbows beneath him. “Back to work, Gregory.”

Greg sniffed and picked the screwdriver back up. He pointed it at the two teens. “Make yourselves useful. Get us all something to drink.”

“We are not some waiters ready at your every whim,” Sherlock said with a glare.

“Oh, baby brother. You should not have said that. John, by all means assist us, Sherlock I think a waiter is a perfect job for you.”

“Or what?”

“Or the violin I made sure was in my safe will stay there.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “You want me to be your slave?” He struggled around the word.

“Seeing as you were the one that made this hard work. Drinks. Go.” Mycroft pointed. “Now.”

“Oh, yes, Master,” Sherlock replied sarcastically. “Anything you say, Master.” He sketched a small bow. “Would like crisps or biscuits to go with your drinks, Master?”

John fell over on his side in a fit of giggles.”

“I would watch your tone, young man, I won't hesitate to lock you in the cupboard. I think John's idea would work brilliantly to teach you some respect.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Try me.”

Sherlock waited until Mycroft had returned his attention to the assembly process and stuck out his tongue at his brother's back.

Without looking up, Mycroft admonished, “And don't stick your tongue out at me.”

Sighing in defeat, he slouched off in the direction of the stairs.

“And don't even think of doing anything to them Sherlock!” His brother yelled down after him.

Greg stopped what he was doing and looked up. He glanced from Mycroft to John. “What could he possibly do to the drinks?”

“What couldn't he do, is more like it.” John shook his head wryly.

As Sherlock trudged back up the stairs with three glasses on a tray, he was more than annoyed at the look on Mycroft's face. He did not look impressed.

“Put them down. Then turn around and go to get yourself one.”

“Already drank it,” he lied smoothly, then he looked at John. His boyfriend wasn't buying it. In fact, he had stood and was stalking over to Sherlock's side.

“I won't call you on that lie if you go back down with me and drink something and eat something. I know you and you probably haven't had anything all day.”

Sherlock nodded once and then his eyes darted to his brother, but Mycroft was watching the enigma that was John Watson.

Sherlock looked back at John. “Fine. If you come with me, it won't be so boring.” He took his boyfriend's hand and tugged him along downstairs.

Mycroft watched him go and turned to Greg. “You know, when Sherlock first brought John back to the manor, I looked into him. Do you know what I found?”

The younger man was back to looking at the instructions. “Nope.”

“Nothing. At all.”

“Did you look into me?”

Mycroft opened his mouth, then closed it, afraid of how his boyfriend might react.

Greg looked up at Mycroft's silence and smiled reassuringly. “It's ok. I don't mind really.”

“No. Anthea did. Without me knowing.”

“Who's Anthea?”

“Just a girl.”

Greg grabbed Mycroft's arm a bit tougher than he intended. “A girl? I thought you were 100% gay.”

“I am. She's just a girl who was on my course. She dropped out and now she's my secretary. I told her not to tell me anything though.”

“It would have been ok. You've seen my pictures from a couple of years ago when I was all punked out. That's about as crazy as I got, though.”

“I will never know if that's a lie or not. Unless you choose to tell me. I promise.”

At the sound on the stairs the kiss Greg had initiated broke up.

Sherlock's eyebrow shot up upon entering the room, but it was John who commented, “You haven't accomplished anything since we left. What were you two doing?”

With a smirk at his brother Sherlock grabbed John, spun him around and pushed him back into the wall, snogging him as thoroughly as possible.

“What's got into you?” John muttered when they paused for breath.

“I was merely demonstrating how they passed the time whilst we were downstairs.”

John gave him a cheeky grin. “I might have missed part of that. You had best demonstrate again.”

Sherlock shrugged, gripped the older boy's shoulders and pushed him back into the wall, more than content for round two.

“Myc,” Greg observed, “This just might have gone faster without me or John here.”

John pushed his boyfriend gently away. “Leave off, Sherlock. As nice as this is, Greg does have a point. Work now. Do something more interesting later.”

“Promise?”

John swatted at him. “Yes. I promise.”

Sherlock laughed and snatched the instructions from Greg. They still hadn't found M and S.

John was looking over Sherlock's arm at the instructions. He pointed at a piece across the room. “That one labelled Q. Isn't it really M?”

The younger man narrowed his eyes and looked at it, then his face broke out in a smile. “Yes, John. You're brilliant!”

“Oi, slave,” Mycroft interrupted. “Bring it over here then.”

Sherlock looked up with a glare, but his violin was held hostage so he slowly made his way towards the indicated plank of wood. He picked it up and handed it to Mycroft, none too graciously and almost taking Greg's head off.

“Oi!” Greg had ducked just in time. “You need to teach your slave some manners, Mycie.”

“No need,” John declared. He now had Sherlock by the ear. “I can handle this.”

“Ow!” He squealed. “John, not you too.”

“Just treating you like the child you are.”

“You're only a year older! And this isn't fair, you're picking on the youngest.”

“And the cutest,” John added. “Which makes it even more fun.”

“Thank goodness. I found S,” Greg announced. “Bring that M over here and let's see if they really go together.”

“Stop,” Mycroft interrupted. “Let the slave do it.”

The younger brother went to protest but John still had hold of his ear so dragged him across the room.

Sherlock attempted to slot the two pieces together, even with his ear being tightly pinched.

“They don't bloody fit!”

“Because that's not actually M. Look.” Mycroft held up the instructions. “That really was Q. It's a mirror image of the piece we need.”

Sherlock mumbled under his breath, “It's always something.”

“Well, go on then, Sherlock, get the piece we need.”

“This is John's fault.”

“You're meant to be a genius and you can't even tell two letters apart.”

John ducked as a pillow went flying.

“He probably deleted letters and reading too,” John quipped. Even as he said it, his eye fell on the missing piece. “Found it!” he yelled triumphantly.

He shoved it at Sherlock's chest. “Your brother wants you to do it, remember?”

“To be honest, it is his wardrobe,” Mycroft pointed out.

Sherlock let out a long sigh and walked over to take the piece from his boyfriend.  This time, when he tried it, the pieces connected together nicely.

“And it only took a bit less than an hour to figure it out,” John grumbled.

“Next. A and X,” Greg said with a glance at the paper.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “How is that even going to work? I saw X earlier and it's rounded.”

“And X has a square hole.” Sherlock grabbed the instructions, screwed them up and tossed them over his shoulder.

“How is that helping, slave?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I know what it looks like. I picked it out of the magazine and I never delete things I don't want to.” For once Sherlock wasn't acting up about the 'slave' comment. “We're supposed to be clever, Mycie, we can fix it. And we have our goldfish.”

Greg cried out, “Oi!”

John swatted at the younger teen. “We are not your bloody goldfish!”

Sherlock frowned deeply, looking to his brother for help.

“Then whose goldfish are you?”

“We are not goldfish!” John shouted, then in a calmer tone, he continued, “We are reasonably intelligent human beings.” He held up his hand to forestall whatever Sherlock was about to say next. “I didn't claim we were geniuses.”

“Quite right.” Sherlock sniffed. “Your mental acuity is somewhat above average.” Mouth breaking into a grin, he continued, “Else we wouldn't bother with you.”

Whilst they were arguing over who was and was not a goldfish Greg had managed to get the entire base of the furniture together, with nothing but the screwdriver.

Mycroft dropped his hands on his boyfriend's shoulders. “My goldfish is better than yours.”

John threw his hands up in the air, he couldn't argue with both Holmses, then he saw the look on his boyfriend's face and burst out laughing.

“Ridiculous!” Sherlock reached out and pulled John to him. “You're the better goldfish, aren't you, John?”

Now resigned to it, and not minding so much now that he was being hugged, John agreed, “Of course I am. I'm the best goldfish, hedgehog or even honey bee if you say I am.”

Sherlock rested his chin on the blond's head. “You're dating me, how could you not be the best?”

Mycroft snaked out a hand and grabbed Greg's. He gave it a squeeze as they exchanged knowing smiles. It was rare that teenage love lasted into adulthood, but in the case of Sherlock and John, the two older men were convinced it would happen.

“Right boys,” Mycroft had to interrupt the moment before he was sick. “Help. The next logical part is the back, and it's more than likely in three pieces.”

Interrupted but not bothered, the two youngest successfully found the deduced three piece between them.

They had the back panels spread out and in place. Greg was looking around for something and waving a hammer around absently. “Where are the bloody nails?”

Mycroft caught his brother biting his bottom lip.

“Sherlock…” When there was no response he changed it to, “slave…”

Sherlock squirmed. “I didn't think we would need them.”

“They came with it, you idiot,” Greg pointed out, “of course we'd need them.”

“But there were screws and…” Sighing heavily, Sherlock stropped to his bed and pulled the pack from under his pillow.

“Sherlock?” John asked curiously. “Why would you need nails?”

The brunette mumbled, “Experiment.”

“You can get nails anywhere, you moron.”

Sherlock scuffed his foot into the carpet. “I wanted those ones.”

Greg caught the package of nails when Sherlock tossed them to him with a sigh. He looked at the nails and made a face. “How are you supposed to even hold these things? They're less than half an inch long.”

“Well, it's a good job you've got little fingers, then, isn't it?” Mycroft murmured in his ear with a smile.

Greg glanced from his hand, he did not have small fingers, and back up at his boyfriend. He leaned in close and whispered quietly, “You've never had a complaint about the size of my fingers, Myc.”

Sherlock made a distinct gagging noise.

“Shut it, slave!”

The younger brother turned back to finding another piece of the furniture, even though they hadn't joined the pieces they already had. He managed to gather together what looked like the makings for a drawer. He screwed up his face as he looked at the track mechanism, it looked to be poorly engineered. Walking over to John, he dumped the load in front of him and sat down.

John looked at the small pile, put his hand on Sherlock's knee and asked, “Don't you think we need those instructions now?”

“No.” He closed his eyes for a moment his head tilting on one side. When he opened them again, he brought two pieces together and John could see quite clearly that with the screwdriver they would fit together perfectly. John leaned over the pieces that were being held by Sherlock and kissed him on the lips. “You are amazing.” His boyfriend blushed and puffed up at the compliment, making John smile.

“Greg, screwdriver?” Greg was currently laid out trying to work out what he was doing with his bit. He threw it over and John caught it neatly.

Greg leant up and whispered into Mycroft's ear. “I won't say this to your brother, but I am positive this is easier without the instructions.”

Mycroft gave a very un-Mycroft like snort. “Of course not, we wouldn't want his head to swell any bigger than it already is.”

He glanced over to his brother who had managed, with John's help, to put together the first half of the first drawer. Feeling helpful, he leant over and grabbed the knobs for the drawer handle and called his baby brother. When he looked over he had a split second to react and catch the bag of wooden handles.

It went faster after that, with Sherlock deducing where each piece went. John and Greg were doing all the real work and, somehow, the fact that Mycroft was sat back and just observing went unnoticed. Mycroft had a feeling as he got older and got promoted sitting back and observing would become a frequent pass time.

Sherlock was so engrossed in what he was doing with John, that it was Greg who actually noticed his boyfriend's idleness. He dropped the hammer and stared at Mycroft. “Sherlock might be your slave, but I definitely am not.”

The elder Holmes looked up and smirked. “I never said you were, Gregory.”

The blond frowned, looking up at the conversations and feeling the need to interrupt. “So why are you sitting back doing nothing?”

“That's what he does, John,” Sherlock pointed out. “That's what he has always done.”

“It's called supervising, baby brother,” Mycroft said in his most haughty tone.

Sherlock snorted. “It's called being a lazy arse.”

“Sherlock, be nice,” John admonished. “And we're almost done anyway.”

“Be nice?!” He exclaimed. “You started it!”

“I did no such thing!”

“I'm sorry, John, I do hate to agree with my brother but…”

“How about you girls stop arguing, we're nearly finished.” Greg interrupted their little debate, secretly please he wasn't getting the 'blame'.

About 15 minutes later, they had finished. It was amazing just how exhausted they all were.

“Food,” John demanded. “And something to drink with lots of caffeine in it.”

Greg stood and stretched. “Food, I agree with, but I want a beer and...” he grinned at Mycroft, “I think John and I deserve some pampering after all of that.”

“I want a beer too,” the blond declared.

“You're only 16,” Mycroft responded.

“I won't tell dad if you don't.”

“He does deserve it,” Greg moved to defend the younger boy.

“Fine,” the elder Holmes relented. “But my slave definitely is not having one.”

Sherlock scoffed. “As if I'd want to drink something that tastes like it has been strained through a horse.”

“Was that an actual joke, 'Lock?” John asked in disbelief.

He scowled, folding his arms, he collapsed in a heap and leant back against his newly built wardrobe.

“I don't know what you're doing, Sherlock, but I believe we wanted drinks. Up. And if you're fast about it, I might let you have your violin so you can serenade us whilst we relax.”

Sherlock's head snapped up. Not at the thought of his violin, but at the thought of his brother no longer having a leg to stand on in his blackmail. He scrambled to his feet and raced down the stairs, John was hot on his heels.

“Will you?” John asked as he joined his boyfriend in the kitchen. “Play, I mean. I've never heard you.”

“Would you like me too?”

He smiled in that reassuring way that Sherlock loved.

“For you, John, I'd do anything.”


End file.
